


Curtains Drawn

by nearlywixes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), They adopt a stray cat that's really it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlywixes/pseuds/nearlywixes
Summary: Jon and Martin adopt a stray cat and do not talk about their problems.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	Curtains Drawn

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't tried to write a fic since I was 12 years old. I've had 2 glasses of wine, wrote this in one go, and did not read it back. Please be kind.

It only takes a few days to settle into a routine. Martin reluctantly removes himself from the shared queen bed each morning, taking care not to wake Jon. The sun has been up an hour or two already, but there is no rush now. No sense of urgency, here in the Scottish countryside. He takes his time, preparing tea. Two sugars and a generous splash of milk for Jon and his steeped longer with nothing added. He used to be a two sugar man himself, but now the strength and bitterness helps ground him. 

He will wake Jon with a soft shake and smile, letting him know that breakfast is ready. Sometimes, he brings a few slices of toast and jam into the bedroom and they spend the morning lounging about instead, chatting about nothing or simply enjoying each other’s company in silence. They haven’t talked about the big things. Neither wants to break the idyllic scene they’ve built. 

So they don’t discuss the cold fog that comes over Martin at times. They don’t discuss the way Jon gets lost in his own head, and they don’t discuss what will happen next. Maybe, just maybe, they can be actors in a play, two men escaping the hustle-and-bustle of London for a while, acquainting themselves with small town life. Spending their days exploring the hills and their evenings curled up with a book, purchased from the dollar bin of the village’s used book store.The curtains must fall sometime, but for now they can enjoy tea in bed and ask each other the easy, getting to know you questions.

“Any siblings?”

“No. An only child.”

“Me too.” And so on.

…

One morning, as Martin puts the kettle on he hears a delicate patter on the front porch. His heart stops, his mind jumping to the worst scenario first. Elias. Annabelle. Daisy, unable to control the Hunt. The adrenaline has already filled his system by the time his brain makes it to racoon. He considers waking Jon before going to investigate, and decides against it.

There’s a four-pane window next to the front door of the cottage, covered by a dusty, heavy blue curtain they hadn’t gotten to cleaning yet. Martin walks softly from the kitchen to the window before slowly pulling back the curtain just enough to peek outside. Martin’s heart stops again, this time for a completely different reason.

On the cottage porch lies a small and thin, entirely black cat. The creature is basking in the morning sunlight, eyes closed. Martin can hardly contain his excitement. He had always loved animals, and spent some time with his babcia’s cats growing up, but had never lived in a flat where pets were allowed. Maybe if he approached it, slow and calm, the cat would allow him to pet it. 

Martin opens the front door with a light creak. The animal doesn’t notice, and Martin takes a step outside. A step closer, then another.  
“Hey there, kitty,” he whispers softly. At this, the cat opens its eyes, blinking yellow and wide at Martin. It tenses, ready to bolt if necessary, but unsure if the large man poses a threat. Martin crouches down, holding out his hand, inviting the cat to sniff. At this moment, the kettle begins whistling from inside the cottage, and the cat darts off toward the fields around the side of the cottage.

“Damn it,” Martin sighs, standing back up and heading inside the cottage. He places a small bowl of water out on the porch, just in case. He doesn’t mention the encounter to Jon, and if his spirits are a little higher today, well, who’s to say why. 

…

Martin has yet to see the cat again, yet every morning the water bowl is empty so he refills it. Four days after he first saw the cat, the curtains are open (now free of dust) and he sees the small animal sunbathing, in the same spot as before.

Martin doesn’t have a different plan this time, he realizes as he steps through the door. He had taken the kettle off the heat before, hopefully preventing any loud noises from scaring it away. He takes a deep breath, hoping to exude a calming energy. As soon as he crouches down, the cat approaches and sniffs the proffered hand before bumping its forehead against it, inviting Martin to pet. Delighted, Martin pets the cat, and takes a closer look. The cat is a sleek black all over, with grey and white hairs starting to show in the coat. Its eyes are pretty yellow; the right eye with a speck just underneath the pupil. It’s balding in front of the right ear, and Martin silently wonders if male-pattern baldness applies to cats.

He takes a moment to sit down on the concrete of the porch and crosses his legs before gesturing for the cat to come closer. It does, climbing into Martin’s lap, continuing to seek affection. Enjoying the softness (and ignoring the slight stink) and easily given love of the stray, Martin doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he hears Jon’s footsteps approach.

“Martin?” Jon asks, stepping out the front door, which Martin had left open.

“Jon!” Martin returns with a smile, and gestures to the cat in his lap. 

“I see you’ve made a friend,” Jon says, moving to close the door behind him and sit down on concrete beside Martin.

“Isn’t it just precious? And so friendly! I”ve never met a stray so friendly, although I suppose city cats are different from country strays--” Martin launches into his thoughts on strays, continuing to pet the cat in his lap.

Jon reaches out, placing a hand on the back of the purring animal as Martin rambles on. The cat, previously blissed out, turns its head and snaps at Jon, surprised at the sudden addition. 

“Kozek! No!” Martin exclaims. “Jon is a friend. And we don’t try to bite friends,” he tells the cat sternly.

Jon chuckles, unharmed, placing his hands back in his lap. “It’s my fault, Martin. I’ve never really been around cats before. And you’ve named her already?”

“It’s not a name, Jon. Kozek is the Polish word for kitten. And why did you say ‘her’? I haven’t checked its gender yet.”

Jon gives Martin a look that means he Knew the cat was a girl. “I wasn’t aware you were mutli-lingual.”

Martin sighs, and tells Jon, “My babcia had a few cats that she rescued. She lived in Poland and I only ever met her in person a handful of times. Her English was limited so I picked up a few words of Polish.”

“Well, I think Kozek would make a great name for a cat.” Jon reaches out, slowly this time, offering his hand for her to smell, “People call their cats ‘Kitty’ in English, don’t they?”

“Certainly we can think of something better.” Martin rebutes. “You’re okay with us keeping her?” he asks, voice full of hope.

Jon nods, hand in Kozek's fur, and leans forward to plant a light kiss on Martin's cheek.

…

The name sticks, despite Martin’s best efforts, and Kozek follows them inside when the wind picks up. They get her cleaned up and feed her some leftover chicken, promising to pick up real cat food the next time they head into the village. 

As easily as they fell into routine, Kozek fits in just as well. Martin wakes up to her meows, an adorable demand to be fed. She tries to drink from their cups of tea--”no Kozek! That’s not for kitties!”--and cuddles up in Jon’s lap when he reads. The Lonely feels just a little farther away with her around.

They can take a few more days. In this scene, hanging onto the idea they could be vacationing in Scotland. No Fears or Avatars, no trauma or pain, just a happy couple and their beloved stray.

**Author's Note:**

> This was in no way influenced by the stray cat I pet outside my apartment complex this morning. Definitely.


End file.
